Getting Sentimental
by evitamockingbird
Summary: Mrs. Hughes confronts Mr. Carson about the way he speaks to her. Pure fluff.


**I have no idea where this came from. No splinters in this one, so no need to have any Scotch on hand while reading.**

Mrs. Hughes knocked on Mr. Carson's pantry door and entered to find him standing behind his desk, putting a few papers in order for the next morning. "It seems Mr. Barrow is going to be all right. You'll have to do without him for a few days at least, but I doubt that will cause you any difficulty, with the family still away."

"Yes, you're right. I've no need for an underbutler when we've only Mr. Branson to serve."

"Poor man. Those thugs gave quite him a beating," Mrs. Hughes sympathized.

"Did they? I haven't seen him yet. I suppose I'll pay him a visit tomorrow," Mr. Carson mused.

Mrs. Hughes was surprised. "You'll pay Mr. Barrow a visit? Whatever for?"

"He's a member of my staff and he's under my protection. It's my duty to be kind, even if only occasionally."

"I see," Mrs. Hughes mused, beginning to pace the room. Mr. Carson followed her with his eyes, worried about what would happen next. She seemed agitated, and he had a vague impression that he was about to be in her line of fire. When she closed the door and approached his desk, his suspicion was confirmed and he braced himself. He wasn't sure how he had offended her, but he knew he was about to find out.

"So you try to be kind to your staff, even the ones you don't like, is that it?" she asked, dangerously calm.

"That is correct, Mrs. Hughes."

"And what about the staff members you _do_ like, Mr. Carson?"

"Well, I'm _always_ kind to_ them_." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew they were the wrong ones, although he was no less in the dark about the cause of her anger than he had been when she first entered the room.

"Not always, Mr. Carson."

"Who's been telling you tales, Mrs. Hughes?"

"No one has to tell me tales. I've experienced your unkindness for myself," she answered softly.

Mr. Carson was struck by her expression. There was hurt in her eyes, and some anger, but at the same time her gaze held such understanding that he wondered if she might be able to see all the way into his heart just by looking into his eyes. "Perhaps if you tell me what you mean I can try to make amends," he replied cautiously.

"I've tried to understand you, Mr. Carson," she began. "And I think I do, most of the time. You're a good man, though you can be severe at times. Still, I can be friends with a curmudgeon."

Mr. Carson frowned, but thought better of defending himself against her charges.

"But you've pushed me too far and I want_ you_ to understand _me_ and to see why I'm offended and why I'm hurt."

Mr. Carson was dismayed now. He could deal with her anger, but her pain was something altogether different, especially as it seemed he was the cause of it. He waited for Mrs. Hughes to continue.

"Your dismissive words this afternoon wounded me, Mr. Carson. I can't explain why today should be any different from other days, but it was."

Mr. Carson felt very uneasy. He hoped the light in the room was deceiving him, but he thought he saw tears in her eyes. "I'm very sorry to be so obtuse, Mrs. Hughes, but what is it I've said?"

Mrs. Hughes sighed. "'There's no need to get sentimental, Mrs. Hughes,'" she replied, imitating his accent and intonation. "What a scolding to receive," she scoffed. "And from _you_, who had just been reminiscing about Lady Sybil when she was a child."

Mr. Carson understood at last, and regretted his words. "I am sorry, Mrs. Hughes. I should not have spoken to you in that way."

"But why did you, Mr. Carson? What have I ever done to deserve your scorn?" He knew now that there really were tears in her eyes; his panic rose.

"Nothing, Mrs. Hughes. You've never deserved my scorn."

Mrs. Hughes walked around his desk to stand closer to him. "You haven't answered my question, then," she said. "There must be a reason for you to admonish me for being sentimental. A reason for you to tell me I'm a woman with no standards."

She was too close. He could barely stand it, but he was not about to back away from her challenge. "It's because I was afraid…" he trailed off, uncertain how to continue.

"Afraid of what?" she demanded.

"I was afraid I might…" Mr. Carson looked everywhere but at her, but he could still sense her presence and her beguiling scent; there was no escape. She was as beautiful when she was angry as when she smiled. He finally looked down into her eyes, took her gently by the shoulders and kissed her firmly on the mouth. "I was afraid I might do that."

Mrs. Hughes fled to the other side of the desk, shocked speechless. She shook her head rapidly in incomprehension.

"Please don't make this difficult for me, Mrs. Hughes," he beseeched her.

She immediately shot him a venomous look. "Difficult for _you_?"

He raised his hands in surrender. "You're right. I'm sorry. I hope you can forgive me and eventually forget what just happened."

Mrs. Hughes regained her composure. "I'm afraid you aren't going to get out of it that easily, Mr. Carson. I want to make sure I understand what you are telling me. You speak dismissively to me because you are afraid you will… kiss me?"

"Something like that," he answered helplessly.

She thought for a moment, then shook her head again. "No, that isn't good enough."

Mr. Carson came out from behind his desk and approached Mrs. Hughes slowly and she turned to face him, apparently unwilling to show her back to him. He had never seen her so skittish. "Will you not sit down, Mrs. Hughes?" He gestured to the seat she usually occupied when they drank tea or wine together. When she didn't move, he spoke again, as gently as he could. "I'd like to answer you properly, and I think it might be better if we sat down. More like two friends chatting and less like two adversaries in battle."

Mrs. Hughes didn't say anything, but sat down. She kept her eyes on him, her expression now showing a little more curiosity and a little less wariness.

Mr. Carson sat down facing her. "Mrs. Hughes, I'm very sorry that I spoke to you so unfeelingly this afternoon and, I am certain, on many other occasions. I'm not proud of it. But I'm going to tell you why. It won't take long, but you must be patient with me, for it will be a hard thing for me to say."

"Of course," she murmured.

"I like that you are sentimental," he began. "I don't think you are a woman with no standards. I think very highly of you. In fact… I love you." He looked up at Mrs. Hughes to find her still watching him silently, her eyes wide. "I never meant to tell you so, because I was afraid that… Well, I was afraid, that's all. I've been trying to keep you away from me, and it seemed my harsh words were more effective than anything else I tried. I thought if you didn't like me very much you wouldn't care to be near me. We could go on more or less as we always have, without all the complications that telling you would bring to my life."

Her voice shook only slightly when she responded. "And now that you have told me, is it as terrible as you feared?"

"I don't know," he answered. "That depends on you. Can you forgive me - for everything? Can we still be friends?"

"I'm afraid _that_ depends on _you,_" she returned. "Because _I_ love _you_, Mr. Carson, but it seems rather a punishment to be in love with a man who loves me back, but wishes he didn't. If you will continue to resist your own heart, I don't know if we can go on as friends. I will know that you are sorry to have hurt me, but also that you will continue to do so."

"Well, then it's not terrible at all that I told you," Mr. Carson stated gravely. "I won't go on resisting. If you love me, there is no reason for me to do so."

"What about the complications you spoke of?"

"No longer important to me," he answered, shaking his head. A small smile crept to his lips. "If I had known what it would feel like to have you tell me you love me, I might have tried my luck with you much sooner."

Mrs. Hughes smiled as well. "I do love you, you know."

"In spite of my being a harsh-speaking curmudgeon?" Mr. Carson asked.

"No, I love both the harsh-speaking curmudgeon and the kind friend," she answered fondly. "I love you as you are, when you are at your best and when you are at your worst."

"Then all of my efforts to push you away were doomed to failure from the beginning," he mused. "You were going to love me no matter what I did, and I was going to love you whether I wished to or not."

"A very flattering picture of us both!" Mrs. Hughes laughed.

"I'd like to kiss you," Mr. Carson told her.

"I think you had better," she replied, standing up to approach his chair. Before she could bend down to kiss him, he stood and took her in his arms, surprising her. Still, she was more prepared for this kiss than the previous one, so when his lips moved over hers, she responded in kind. Soon they were locked in a passionate embrace, completely lost to the world that was asleep around them.

They broke apart at last, both out of breath. "I love you, my darling," Mr. Carson whispered.

"There's no need to get sentimental, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes teased.

"On the contrary, Mrs. Hughes. There's every need." And he kissed her again.

_The end._


End file.
